


Le Taureau Dans Le Four

by Ketlingr



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Nicknames, Secret Relationship, gafou
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 00:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10730358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ketlingr/pseuds/Ketlingr
Summary: It's all about keeping up appearances. Their innocuous whispered nicknames mean so much more than anyone can ever know.





	Le Taureau Dans Le Four

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rose_de_Noire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_de_Noire/gifts).



 

“I’ll never finish this song. I don’t know how they even do it, being spontaneous about it.”

“Just relax.” LeFou knew his advice was going to be ignored. If there was one thing Gaston was bad at, it was relaxing. “Show me what you’ve got so far, if you insist on learning your lines beforehand,” he sighed.

“Right. So… they will sing whatever dreadful nonsense they can come up with,” he started, then began humming the simple little melody they had come up with. The townspeople loved their songs, one was enough to last them months, but it was about time for a new melody. And so LeFou and Gaston practiced the back and forth of whatever LeFou could come up with paired up with the lines Gaston had prepared. So far, it was all well, but LeFou could sense they were approaching the part that was frustrating the other man. He dutifully sang his lines - “No one shoots like Gaston, makes these beauts like Gaston, then goes tromping around wearing boots like Gaston” - and glanced expectantly over at where the tall man was pacing. There was a pause.

“I…” Gaston cleared his throat, then belted “I even look good while I’m defecating-” but there was no reprise coming from LeFou, who understood now what had been so frustrating. “What? Too much?”

LeFou snorted. “A little. You know you’ll at least have to mime this, right?”

Gaston paused, looking thoughtful. His head was full of unflattering images and he had a reputation to uphold. “You’re right, love. What do you suggest?” He watched LeFou think, about to make another suggestion of his own when the shorter man spoke up.

“I use antlers in all of my decorating?”

“That’s a lie,” Gaston pouted.

“Everything we do is a lie, Gaston. Everything except that.” The two of them glanced over at their coats, hung neatly on the ends of an entire mounted stag’s skull, and from there to a decorative bowl, fashioned from broad elk’s antlers. There really wasn’t a corner of the house left that did not feature antlers in some shape or form. Luckily, the local tavern had offered to let Gaston mount his trophies on their wall in return for a share of his kill. Ever the avid hunter, he had game to spare, and so his decorations had spread to the tavern and beyond. Even Gaston’s own body - and that was something the general population remained blissfully unaware of - had been adorned with a pair of antlers in dark ink. It wasn’t proper - but fortunately, they were in a place few people got to see. LeFou himself often said he would have preferred Gaston to grow actual horns, so he could hold on to them. Even in public the words occasionally slipped, but people had much tamer thoughts than LeFou.

“To keep you from your stubborn endeavours,” one of the older men had laughed, and the resulting jokes - and subsequent brawl - had earned Gaston the nickname _le taureau_ , The Bull. Gaston hadn’t complained when LeFou had started calling him “my bull” in private.

“Fine,” Gaston relented, and the huff he made completed the image of a bull quite nicely. That and the way the muscles of his shoulders and neck strained when he was annoyed...

“Sit,” LeFou said gently and gestured towards a nearby stool. It was not among the comfier types of seating Gaston’s house had to offer, but it was perfect for what he intended to do - making his bull sit low enough for LeFou to be able to reach his shoulders. “Sometimes I believe you get all these muscles just from being so tense when you get worked up,” he cooed.

“How are your hands always so warm,” Gaston groaned pleasantly and relaxed his shoulders. “If the sun was down I would take you into the basement and have those hands elsewhere, LeFour.”

LeFou blushed at the nickname. It had become Gaston’s favourite endearment, ever since they had first shared a bed. Wrapped around the taller man, LeFou had always been able to keep him warm, radiating heat like a furnace. And so he had become _le four_ , the oven. Of course, he had already had his usual monicker even at that time. He had been LeFou for as long as either of them could remember. Being the fool, the madman, the simpleton had always been an effective way of keeping people at bay. It was an inconspicuous disguise and while some thought his character and plump physique made LeFou endearing, nobody considered him a good match. Nobody, that was, except for Gaston.

Because Gaston knew, he had figured it out the day he had caught LeFou _reading_ , of all things. Shakespeare. Macbeth. LeFou had stared up at Gaston in horror for a moment, before stammering that he just liked looking at the pictures.

“It has no pictures,” Gaston said, frowning and staring at LeFou as though he was trying to figure him out. “It’s my favourite book.” He kept staring, challenging, daring LeFou to say the wrong thing.

It was impossible. Everyone knew Gaston didn’t read. He despised books, it was possibly the only reason he hadn’t been able to win Belle over yet - wasn’t it? LeFou stared back. Asking, silently. Could it be? They had been friends for so long, could it be they had never noticed just how much they had in common?

At the time it had been too dangerous to ask. But the incident had given both of them hope. LeFou was lucky that Gaston was such a stubborn man, because without his determination, the two of them might still not know. LeFou could never have approached the other, could never have pulled him into his house and into a corner and kissed him like that. It had been so fierce, yet so brief, and the stare that followed so wary. And the faintest nod had been enough to dissolve all the tension in Gaston’s shoulders and drive the worries from his face, just like LeFou’s hands did now as they massaged the man’s neck.

Gaston knew what he was doing. Not only was he a handsome man - and wasn’t that an understatement - he was also more than moderately well situated. It was a miracle he hadn’t married yet. His only option, he had explained to LeFou when they had finally talked, to avoid the wrong kind of attention, was to focus on one woman, appeal to the people’s romantic ideals. And so it came to be widely known that despite all the advances of the town’s women, there was only one woman’s attention he was trying to get. And this woman, chosen wisely, was Belle - the last woman on earth to fall for the persona Gaston had constructed for the public eye. Although it was so different from LeFou’s approach, Gaston’s disguise was no less perfect, tailored to his circumstances. Yet unlike LeFou, Gaston would have to relent eventually. Neither of them liked to think about it, and they never talked about their future. There was no future for people like them.

For now, however, they had a present, and they both intended to make the most of it. And so, when LeFou’s hands started to wander further down Gaston’s body, the taller man grabbed his wrist and dragged him off into the basement. It was far from ideal, usually they waited until it was dark to feel safer. But Gaston felt daring, and LeFou’s hands were too soft, too teasing to deny himself the pleasure of their touch, unhindered by fabric and decency.

“Shouldn’t we-” LeFou spoke up quietly, looking over his shoulder as they descended, the basement door barred behind them. It was pitch black, but they knew the way well enough.

“No,” Gaston interrupted, his voice a low growl. “I need you, _mon petit fou_ .” They had barely reached the bottom of the stairs before he pulled LeFou into his arms and started kissing him, big hands deftly peeling away layers of clothing. Stumbling through the darkness, Gaston pushed them into the back room, walls and floors cushioned with hay and whatever else they had found suitable to muffle their sounds. When their hands started exploring each other in the darkness, Gaston kept muttering, teasing LeFou with his words. And LeFou could have sworn that at in-between kisses and growls, Gaston had started calling him _LeFoutre_. There was a backstory to that, and LeFou blushed deeply remembering it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse my terrible French, it's all guesswork. I hope it's fine.


End file.
